


Figure In the Doorway

by alicekittridge



Series: Moments In Time [6]
Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Oneshot, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29593182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicekittridge/pseuds/alicekittridge
Summary: Her demon is slumbering again, but for how long this time, Dani doesn’t know.
Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie
Series: Moments In Time [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982450
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	Figure In the Doorway

**Author's Note:**

> When one story is being stubborn, write another that came to you at three in the morning instead. Not sure if I'll ever get tired of writing tenderness between these two. 
> 
> Thank you for reading xx

I.

After dinner. An hour, give or take. The apartment still holds a faint smell of baked pasta and garlic bread. The dishes are stacked in the drainer, still drying. Dani had put them away, and afterward had said she’d go to bed. The day had been its own weight: a busy one at the shop, given that it was a Saturday; people buying summer flowers to fill the beds outside their houses and window boxes, an endless stream of people from open till close. It didn’t help that the Lady was awake, her non-eyes as sharp as lion’s claws, glaring up at Dani from whatever depth she occupied. Pacing. Then standing still. And pacing again.

Pacing. Then standing still. And pacing again. Stopping.

Dani pauses, a robed statue in the hallway just outside the kitchen, a nail trapped between her teeth. She’d gone to bed but hadn’t lain in it, unable to sleep after all. Occupied by a different energy. It isn’t the Lady’s doing, now; her demon is slumbering again, but for how long this time, Dani doesn’t know. Silently, turning the corner to peek at the kitchen table, she begs _Don’t let it be soon._

Jamie is her own statue, bent over books and order sheets, one bare foot propped on the edge of the chair, hair tied back and out of her face. She’s armed with a pen. Her eyes rove over the pages, her teeth make good work on the pen’s cap, and Dani’s chest floods with a tide of emotions. Love. Guilt. _I am going to leave you one day. And you’ll be there, in that chair._ And then, something different altogether, the more she studies the teeth biting into plastic, the left hand splayed across a book to keep it open, the glimpse of throat hiding underneath a few loose strands of hair, the series of buttons on the front of a well-loved flannel.

The floorboard underneath Dani’s foot creaks. Intentionally, she thinks, cringing at the sound, at the way it bursts Jamie’s concentration. Eyes meet. One pair concerned, the other half-guilty.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dani says simply.

“She awake?” Jamie says.

Dani shakes her head no. She can see relief visibly flood Jamie. Her posture relaxes. Her sigh is a mix of that and tiredness.

“I’ll be dreaming ‘bout this,” Jamie says, gesturing to the orders. “Everyone and their mum’s into gardenin’ these days.”

“You liked it before it was cool.”

“Damn right.” Jamie’s foot falls back to the floor. She stretches. Dani swallows. Is it, she wonders, the conglomeration of busy days hitting her, making her realize how little time they’ve had together? Is it loneliness? Or is it desire itself, which comes and goes as it pleases these days? She doesn’t know. She only knows the robe is too much, despite being lightweight silk. Only knows she wants to stand in front of Jamie and undo the tie, or let Jamie do it herself. But instead of going to the tie, a hand reaches for Jamie’s, once Dani’s close enough, and she brings it to her cheek.

Jamie takes her in, starting from Dani’s face, lingering at the hint of collarbones just below the robe’s top. Her thumb strokes Dani’s cheek in an even rhythm.

“Come to bed?” Dani says.

Jamie nods. Her reply is soft. “Yeah.”

Dani pulls her up. She leads her by the hand to their room. Inside, the only light is from the lamp on Dani’s nightstand, which she’s left on the past few nights. Hoping to keep shadows and dreams away.

It’s their first kiss in weeks. There’ve been others, certainly; a myriad of _hello_ and _goodbye_ and _good morning_ and _goodnight_ and _love you_ , but not lingering. Not sighing. Not _finally_ and _I’ve missed you._

Dani deepens it with tongue, Jamie’s mouth parting willingly, pressing back with as much want as Dani gives. Her hands tighten on Dani’s hips, and then she’s angling her head away to press her lips to Dani’s neck.

“Tell me what you want,” she says softly.

Last time, it’d been the boxed thing under the bed, ridiculous and sparkling red. They’d bought it because Dani had barked laughter upon seeing it in the store, and again in the context of bed, unable to guide Jamie inside her until the laughter had died to a fit of staccato giggles. Then, it had been Jamie’s hands in her hair, Dani encouraging her to pull, the tug of it a delicious sting, until a heavy, endless wave washed over her.

Now, she wants something different. Something familiar. She pulls Jamie close, splaying her fingers through soft, still-tied-up curls. “Just love me,” Dani whispers.

Jamie moves up, back to Dani’s mouth. The kiss is light. She pulls back, moving her hands to the robe’s tie, undoing it slowly, like the silk would unravel in her hands if she tugged with harder purpose. A small shiver travels through Dani’s limbs when the cooler bedroom air caresses her newly exposed skin, and again when Jamie traces it with gentle fingertips, beginning from collarbones, running south to draw lines between her breasts—a place Dani often likes her to linger, to run teeth over, when the mood is right—and back up to her shoulders, pausing to slip the robe further off them.

“I do love you,” Jamie murmurs. The robe falls around Dani’s ankles. “I loved the person you were.” A kiss to a shoulder. “I love you as you are.” A kiss to the other one. “I’ll love the person you’ll become.” A kiss to her forehead. “And I will love every version in between.” Her hands are warm on Dani’s face. Her kiss, firm as the period at the end of a sentence, reiterates what she’s said. Repeats, Dani knows, what’s been said nearly countless times before. And as she falls back onto unmade sheets and Jamie’s kisses rain gently over her, she thinks the words bouncing inside her skull sound almost like vows. And that Jamie’s movements, the lingering kisses, the gentle curl of fingers and tongue working in tandem, are worship.

Clumsily, she tugs Jamie back to her, pressing a kiss to damp lips that taste like herself, sighing. Pouring all her thanks and her love into shaky movements, feelings that words aren’t enough for. Dani’s fingers linger at the first button on Jamie’s shirt, trembling, still, in the wake of pleasured exhaustion. Dani asks, around breaths, “May I?”

“’Course,” Jamie responds, just as breathless.

Jamie is wearing nothing underneath it. Dani runs her hands over soft, bare skin, takes the weight of small breasts. Kisses Jamie’s neck while running thumbs over sensitive nipples. Cranes her neck to take one into her mouth, savoring Jamie’s gasp and the hands that clench encouragingly in her hair. It’s only when hips cant into Dani’s own that she takes Jamie into her arms and switches their positions.

Jamie’s shirt billows out, the spring green of it not at all matching the ocean blue of the sheets. Her jeans, though, are a little closer in color, but not by much. Dani takes it in, liking the contrast, the soft, half-slick skin pressed against her own. Takes it in because it might fade.

Jamie’s hands find her face again. “What’s goin’ on?” she asks.

“I was… remembering a dream.” It’s the simplest way Dani can put it, right now. “But that’s all it was, wasn’t it?”

“Not real,” Jamie agrees. “This is what is.” She takes Dani’s hands in her own, placing them on either side of her neck, letting go once they’re settled.

Our life, Dani thinks, retracing earlier paths, letting her mouth follow suit. This apartment. This moment. My love for her. Her love for me.

She unzips Jamie’s jeans. Slides a hand inside. Finds her easily, fingers meeting slick warmth. Heart jumping, as it always does, when Jamie’s whisper of “Dani” is filled with so much want. It’s permission, and a declaration. _Go on. You’ve got this._

An hour later, Dani collapses beside Jamie, who is still breathing through the bliss of a third orgasm, throwing an arm over her waist to breathe with her, so she might absorb the calm aftermath. The scent of unwashed sheets mixed with the salty tang of sweat. Of almost-gone mint from Jamie’s hair. Smells of home. Of contentment, Dani thinks, eyes slipping closed, a smile forming on her lips at an emotion she almost forgot she was capable of feeling.

II.

She wakes to warm sunlight. It streams golden through the blinds, which had been left cracked the night before. Dani reaches left, to Jamie’s side of the bed, finding it empty. Kitchen sounds travel down the hallway, putting the small flicker of anxiety at ease. Must be making breakfast, Dani thinks, stretching, feeling last night’s contentment fill her once again.

She’s learning to enjoy Sundays.

The Leafling is closed. Not because she and Jamie are religious, or wanted to follow other businesses’ leads, but because it’s nice to have one day of the weekend to themselves. Sundays, here, are not usually bound by routine, save for breakfast. Sometimes missing home, Jamie will make full English. Other times she’ll let Dani make a classic American breakfast, pancakes or waffles with local maple syrup, scrambled eggs with sharp cheddar and chives, and crispy bacon that is, more than not, just this side of burnt. But as Dani wakes to the world and her senses follow suit, she realizes there isn’t a breakfast smell lingering in the air. Curiosity rather than necessity dictates she rise from bed, slip on an already-worn pair of jeans and a clean shirt, and putter to the kitchen.

Jamie is there. Fully dressed, not in Sunday clothes, no apron tied around her waist. The stove is bare of pans, the sink lacking batter-stained dishes. Instead there’s a wicker basket on the counter, checkered insides spilling over. Dani can’t see its contents.

Suddenly amused, she asks, “What’s this?”

Jamie answers, not startled by Dani’s sudden appearance, “What’s it look like?”

“Not Sunday breakfast.”

“Brunch, more like.” Jamie tucks the lid closed. “Sun’s warm. Thought we could get out, if you wanted.”

Dani smiles. “You’re into brunch now?”

“Don’t tell me you think I’m goin’ soft.”

“Never,” Dani says, closing the gap between them to take Jamie’s hand. “I’d love to come.”

They settle underneath a tree in Regents Park. There are other couples there too, enjoying each other’s company, or playing with a dog, or their kids. All enjoying the almost-afternoon weather before it gets too warm to be pleasurable.

Jamie produces sandwiches from the basket. Roast beef, folded neatly between hoagie rolls, pepperjack cheese clinging to the slices. Bottles clink, too—two Cokes. The bottles are vintage. Noticing Dani’s surprised gaze, Jamie smiles and says, “Bought ‘em from Reggie. The sandwiches, too.”

Reggie’s Vintage is a novelty of their small town. It’s both a shop and a restaurant, boasting its finds and ‘old-style sandwiches.’ People travel from all over just to see it. Dani accepts the sandwich and the Coke. “Did you do this this morning?” she says.

“Wanted to surprise you. Figured I’d succeed while you were dead asleep.”

“Can’t believe I slept through it.”

“I could,” Jamie says, and winks. Pretending that last night was only that: heated lovemaking. More for Dani’s sake than her own.

“Stop it,” Dani says, but leans her head briefly on Jamie’s shoulder anyway. They eat together, watch the people come and go. “We should do this again.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s nice. A little boring,” Dani jokes, “but in a good way.”

Jamie laughs. “Never thought I’d get back to it.”

“Do you like it?”

“More than I ever thought I would.” She sets her hand on top of Dani’s. They’re hidden behind the wicker basket. “Like I said. Long as these days are with you, I don’t care what they’re filled with.”

_You will,_ Dani thinks, but banishes the thought with, “Me too.”

Time seems to still, then, and Dani wishes, not for the first time, that she could pause it.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi, if you'd like, or to talk about a show you can't stop thinking about, either. Either one
> 
> kate-the-rabbit.tumblr.com 
> 
> xx


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